The Match
by Legi
Summary: Between the events of the Mistwall incident in 1933 and the Chicago chain bombings of 1934 there is a small space. But its still big enough to fit in a visit from an old friend, scams, card games and a manhunt. Oh yes and fires, lots and lots of fires.
1. The First Fire

Day 1

Chicago: In a empty room of an old abandoned house.

Skit

Skit

Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit Skit

Skit

…

Skit

Skit

Fizzzzz….

"There we go." the youth held the lit match near his face. "Man, it took some time for it to get lit." The light of the flame made the unusual white streaks in his black hair more prominent and made his amber eyes seem as they too were lit in the same fire. "I almost thought the match was too damp. It seems I need more practice." He stared at the flame as though transfixed for a second and then turned to the man on the floor.

"Soooo, you know why you're here right?" the youth with the match asked, playfully slapping the captive's cheek.

"Erahgrah"

The captive either made a response or was simply screaming, either way it was stifled by his gag.

"Yes, yes that's right you're here because your boss Old Man Russo thought that you were enough to snuff me out." the youth answered ignoring the fact that the captive was incomprehensible. "Really the standard of assassins has fallen these days, eh? Give a guy a gun and poof he's an assassin. No class anymore."

The youth leaned closer to the captive.

"Did the Russo family run out of assassins after Lad got put on the Island? Or was the old man just looking down on me?" the youth asked pressing the burning match against the captive's face

"Eragohaherrg!" the captive let out a muffled howl as the flame charred his flesh, slowly dimming as it did so, until it finally went out, leaving a singed smell in the air.

Skit

Skit

Skit

Fizzzzzzz….

The youth held his newly lit match near the captives face. The burnt flesh was slowly regaining its color, the black and crackled skin changing back to smooth white.

The youth continued. "So what if you're one of them unkillables? Just cause a man's indestructible doesn't make him invincible." He let out a sigh, "It just makes them more cocky." The youth removed the captive's gag. "Am I right?"

"You think you can get away with this on Russo turf punk?! You're going to Ugh." A splash of liquid cut off the captive's sentence.

"Regret this?" the youth asked looking down at the jug of liquid in his left hand. He looked back at the captive and smiled "I don't think I will."

The captive smelled the liquid.

"Wait this is…"

"Kerosene?" the youth cut in "No, no I would never use something like that." he splashed the captive again with the liquid making him sputter. "This is actually one of my own creations. I was saving it for that abandoned building on Main Street but…" he smiled a radiant smile of pure unrestrained joy, "to be able to use it on a person, without breaking my vow of pacifism? How could I resist?"

"Wa… Wait! Don't be hasty. Come on we can work something out right?" The captive said faking a smile. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.

"Can we?" asked the youth cocking his head to the side in a quizzical manner.

"Yeah!" said the man ecstatically. "You probably didn't know the factories you burnt down were Ruso owned right? I'll just tell the boss to look the other way on this one."

"No."

"What?"

"I'm answering your question." the youth said to the captive. He was still smiling but it was no longer warm. It was dripping with malice. "I did know that both factories were owned by Ruso. That's why I burned them." He held a missing poster to the captives face. "You called a hit on a good friend of mine, and don't think the disguise fools me, I've lived here long enough to recognize a hit when I see one." He held the match to the paper burning a whole straight through it.

"Well I could still…"

"Lie to your boss?" the youth cut in. "No honor among thieves eh?" He laughed. "I feel I should torch you even more."

"But…"

"You know why I like fire?" the youth cut in looking intently at his match again. "It's because it's beautiful. The way it shimmers, wavers, flickers, how it reaches forever up, up, up, I love it all." He turned back at the captive. "You know what makes it better though?" He waited for a response but not getting any he continued. "It can be started in unsightly things and make them beautiful, just for a short time mind you, and when it's goes," he blew out the match sinking the room in total darkness, "it leaves no trace of whatever was there before." He started to strike another match, "Objects," Skit "Feelings," Skit "Buildings."

Fizzzzzzz…

He smiled at the captive in the light of the new match, "Even people like you."

"But…" At this point the captive was grasping at straws. "You said you had a vow of pacifism!" cried the captive triumphantly.

"What about it?"

"It's not pacifism if you burn me!" the captive yelled.

The youth looked thoughtful for a second, cocking his head to the side. "But you wouldn't be hurt because you'd just heal…"

"But it'll still be an act of violence!"

The youth sighed, "For an assassin you really have no guts, huh?" he crouched near the captive his match still lit in his right hand, "Fine, this is what I'll do. I'll walk out here pouring this stuff as I go." He lifted the jug of his concoction. "By the time I'm out I'll make my decision." he started to walk out the room, the liquid trailing behind him with every step. He stopped at the door and turned back to the captive.

"By the way my name is Aidan Frey. Tell the old man I said hi." with those words he blew out the match and walked out the room leaving the captive again, in total darkness.

The sound of the dropping liquid got fainter and fainter as the captive prayed for the mercy of a God he had just started to believe in again.

Aidan looked at the path leading out of the house shimmering under the light of a street lamp. It was a straight trail of his strongest incendiaries. It was almost a shame to leave it unlit, but he had his vow.

He opened his matchbox which had one match left.

He picked up it up. "Are you lonely, little guy?" he asked it in a soft, tender voice. "I'd love to light you but promised I wouldn't hurt anyone." He peered at the match sadly.

Skit

Skit

Fizzzzzz…

"I'll guess I'll have to apologize to Jacuzzi." He said flicking the match at the trail. It caught the trail and the flame sped down it like a wild animal. "Well this town was getting too burnt out anyway." he smiled as the entrance exploded sending wood and glass flying in all directions as the whole house was engulfed in a ball of flame.

"No regrets at all." he chuckled to himself.

"Now off to New York."


	2. Never Trust a Queen of Spades

Day 2

Chicago: In a shady alleyway

It was cold.

Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, COLD!

Why was in so cold!

The sky was a chalk white the weeds sticking out of the cracks in the side walk tipped with frost, and every breath she took seemed to freeze in place in front of her, that she was almost tempted to grab at it with two hands. Instead she started shuffling her cards. The movement warmed her hands to some extent and made her feel a little less sorry for herself.

Liz Demara shook her head.

"What am I doing here?"

Of course she knew what she was doing there. She was there to get rich in the quickest way possible.

Grifting.

Liz Demera was one of the many men and women who, to survive on the unforgiving streets of America, sold her morals for a carrier of swindling the greedy and stupid out of money they wouldn't miss anyway. In short she was a confidence artist.

Well, they also called her a crook, swindler, grafter, fraud, scammer, hustler, mountebank, liar, cheat, pick pocket, sham, and that-bitch-who-just-stole-my-wallet but she liked the name confidence artist the best. It made her job seem more difficult than it really was. In reality people always want to believe in something whether it's their luck, their intelligence, their god, or that harmless looking brunet shuffling cards. She just needed to channel that trust to her advantage. Simple.

She yawned and flipped up the top card on her deck.

The Queen of Spades.

She grinned but quickly dropped her smile when she heard the sound of footsteps. She tucked the cards back into her blouse and turned toward the newcomer.

The man that approached was in his 30's. White Caucasian male in a long black coat and a hat slightly tilted to the side. His neat clothes, wide steps, added to his eyes which were not darting about as you'd expect from someone carrying valuables in the streets of Chicago gave her the impression that he was overconfident and thought he was too smart to be taken.

This was going to be easier than she thought.

His luggage was a black case, locks on either side, brand new, carried in his right hand in discreet, but constant contact to his leg.

Bingo. The prize.

He stood next to her and stopped.

She looked at him and smiled, "I was expecting you."

This was not a lie. She was expecting him. However it was not because she was the intended recipient of the briefcase. She had bought the information from a certain third party about the transaction and when and where it would take place. The man was from a declining Mafia organization called the Russo family, the briefcase he was carrying something important to them. She didn't know what was in it besides it being valuable. She hoped it was just cash but she could live with jewels. Worst case would be it was a bomb but she could just get rid of it then latter. Probably win a medal for it too.

The man's eyebrows furrowed slightly, "You're early."

Of course she was! Wouldn't want to meet the real receiver of the package.

"Something's come up and Mr. Russo wants the package delivered immediately." She laughed to slightly break the tension, "Slave drivers, am I right?"

The tension in the man's shoulders eased up but his eyes were glaring, "Watch your mouth girl."

"Sorry." she said hastily, trying to look slightly intimidated to make him feel in control.

"Why is the Boss using a woman as a delivery boy, eh?" asked the man still glaring.

"Easy, I don't get frisked by cops. They're too busy staring." She smiled sweetly and stuck out her hand, "Now this conversation is great fun but if it's all the same to you, I'll take the case now."

The man took out the case from under his arm and handed it to her.

Score!

She held in her glee as she started to walk off.

"Wait!" yelled the man.

Her heart skipped a beat and she slowly turned around.

"You better not look in that case or things won't turn out well for you, get me?" the man said folding his arms over his chest.

She smiled, "Wouldn't dream of it."

It took a while for the actual intended receiver of the briefcase to come into contact with the man and little while longer for them to realize what had happened and to tell their boss Placido Russo. By the time Placido gave the order to search the streets of Chicago for young women carrying briefcases it seemed Liz was already long gone. Or it may have been that the men outside the Chicago Union Station were two preoccupied searching for a young brunette with a brief case they missed the old, hunched over woman who bought one ticket to the first train to New York. It was a shame because if they had looked hard enough they would have made out the corner of a briefcase peeking from under the folds of her clothes.


	3. The Wrench and the Reaper

Day 2

Chicago: The ruins of the Van Dyke Auto Plant

"Let me tell a sad… oh so sad story."

The plant was finished. The walls were blackened, the third floor virtually nonexistent, and the second sinking into the first. Most of the cars were either smoking skeletons or melted hunks of metal. Thankfully no one died, but the plant itself was not going to be used anytime soon if at all. The fire had incinerated everything.

A small fire, made from the few remaining unburnt rubble, lit up the exposed factory floor casting shadows on the group of youths gathered there. Even in the dim light however, the clear blue of a mechanic's outfit was still plainly visible among the grey of the others.

A wrench caught the moonlight as it spun toward the earth, glimmering as it fell back into the hand of the youth in the blue outfit. The youth himself did not look very significant. He was about 20, on the thin side and had sandy blond hair covering his eyes, which were the same clear blue as his uniform.

No, what was more significant was his wrench. It was, by the looks of it a monkey wrench that you could picture being used at a construction site or a mechanic's garage and would have seem normal for the youth, naturally in the mechanic's outfit, to wield save two things.

The first was its size. It was safe to say it was almost half the youth's height and resembled more of a medieval knight's mace than a mechanic's tool.

The second was the red stains across the wrenches jaws, as if it had taken a bite out of a person.

Graham Specter, brandishing his wrench, continued to talk.

"A wise man once said home is where your heart is."

Whish. The wrench twirled in the air again, around and around.

"So my heart was in this very auto plant." The wrench fell back into his hand with a thump.

He pointed the wrench at a patch of floor.

"I took apart my first car there."

He pointed to another.

"I broke my first person there."

He pointed to yet another.

"I was beaten by Boss Ladd for the first time there."

Whish, the wrench flew back into the air…

"What does it mean if this plant was burnt down?! Was my heart burnt with it?"

Thump, and back into his hand.

"What am I if I no longer have a home or a heart? Some kind of monster? A homeless monster at that?"

Whish.

"What do I charge the perpetrator with… arson or murder?"

Thump.

"It's sad isn't it? I don't even know what to accuse the villain who burnt down this place… That makes me scum doesn't it? Or am I lower? What kind of human leaves both his home and heart to be destroyed by a stranger?! And what kind of world allows such a sad event to transpire?! Damn! Its way to sad! Not only am I getting mocked by this criminal but also by the world itself! Or is it fate that's mocking me?! Or karma? Either way it makes me so sad, sad, SAD, SAD, SAD, SAD, SAD, SAD, SAD!"

Whish, thump, whish, thump, whish, thump, whish, thump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump.

Thud.

Graham threw the wrench that he was juggling quicker and quicker in the air at the plant's wall. It embedded into the brick radiating cracks from its impact. He cocked head was pointed at the sky as he continued to yell.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAA…!"

"Um… Graham you ok?" Shaft asked in a slightly worried tone.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaAAaaAA aAAAaaaaAAAaAAaaaaa…. aaaa…. Ah… much better."

"And here I was concerned…" Shaft muttered.

"Forget the sad story! What kind of depressing wretch would say one in the first place? I'm too happy for that and this situation has no shred of sadness in it at all! A happy story! That's what this is! A happy story!"

"I really don't think anything about this is… oof!"

"Your too narrow minded Shaft!" Graham retorted, taking his fist out of Shaft's gut.

"This is a new beginning! Why stayed tied to the same old place and dusty memories? That's not a home it's a prison! Home is where ever you happen to be! You know the saying a bird's gotta leave the nest?"

The youths around Graham looked at this complete reverse of mood with no particular mind. One of them muttered "There he goes again."

"Maybe," Graham continued, "this was a sign by the world to tell us to broaden our horizons! Brilliant! Genius! What a kind world! Caring so much about our spiritual wellbeing! Let's obey the worlds command! I can feel the winds of adventure already." Graham frantically ruffed up his own hair, "This happy anticipation is killing me!"

Graham wrapped his hand around his wrench and yanked it out of the wall.

"Guys, we're going on vacation!"

"Where too?" asked Shaft recovering from the blow.

Graham grinned at him.

"New York! Where else?!"

Day 3

Chicago: The bar Dolce

"Sir your tea is ready." The kindly owner of the store placed a steamy cup of tea on the table in front of the man in the black long coat.

The man looked in his late 20's. He was thin in stature, about 6 foot and the glasses on his face made him look like a scholar, or they would if it wasn't for the long scar extending from above his left eyebrow down to his left cheek.

"_Thank you_." he said to the owner smiling which was warm despite the stagnant monotone of his voice, more appropriate of a robot than a man.

He put the tea to his lips…

And a hand slapped his back.

Casimir Dziedzic, professional hitman tagged the "Mad Reaper" by the newspapers, chocked and sputtered on his tea.

The man who slapped him scratched his chin.

"You've gotten rusty; if this was a job you'd be dead."

Casimir franticly beat his chest, coughing till he regained his composure to mutter, "_I'd be dead at the point you got a job to kill me_."

The man laughed and ran his hand through his red hair.

"You got that right Cas."

Casimir shook his head, "_Don't call me Cas, Claire. Just because you can't deal with the fact your pop gave you a girl's name doesn't mean you can take it out on me."_

The red head laughed even harder.

"You really have no fear, don't you?"

Casimir shrugged and took another sup of tea.

"_Actually though_," the man continued, "I got a new name recently, so from now on call me Felix Walken."

Casimir raised an eyebrow, "_That's strange, it's the name of one of my other pals_."

Felix sighed, "Yeah, I get that a lot but I guess that's what you get for buying second-hand name, right?" He sat down opposite from Casmir with a thump.

He was still smiling but his eyes narrowed slightly. "So how is he doing?"

"_The real Felix_?" Casimir asked, "_Don't know, haven't seen him recently_."

"No, no. How is HE doing?"

Casimir put down the cup that was raised to his lips. He sat silently for a minute looking at the steam rising from his cup, tracing out spiraling patterns as they rose upwards.

He looked back up at Felix.

"_As well as someone like him can be. Why_?"

"I always like to know how my particularly nasty nightmares are doing." Felix laughed.

Casimir shook his head, "_You're still sticking to the 'the world is my dream' theory_?"

Felix wagged his finger, "Fact not theory."

"_That's your opinion_."

"Therefore it's a fact."

Casimir sighed, "_You really should get yourself checked out by a doctor_."

Felix put his hand on Casimir's shoulder and cocked his head to the right, "You shouldn't be talking."

"_I guess you're right_." He said as he removed Felix's hand. Even though he was smiling his voice was still flat and inert.

"_So why are you here_?" Casimir asked.

"Business."

"_By who_?"

"Secret."

Casimir stroked his temple, "_Normally I would tell you to not start a mess in my city…_" He took a sip of his tea. "_But seeing I'm about to make a mess in yours… I won't complain if you don't_."

Felix scratched his chin, "Which one?"

"_New York_."

"Why?"

"_Why what_?"

"Whay are you going to New York?"

"_Someone did a hit and run on the Russo family. Actually two people did, but one of them we know hightailed it to New York_."

"And you're going to…"

"_I'm not doing anything_." interrupted Casimir, "_HE is_."

"Since when did you start working for the Russo family?"

"_Ever since you threw Ladd off a train_." He took another sip of tea but looked up in time to see Felix smirk. "_But only when they offer good pay_." he finished.

"And I'm assuming they offered good pay?"

Casimir shrugged. "_An angry Placido Russo always offers good pay_."

"Just make sure you _get_ paid." Felix laughed, "Those guys are on their way out."

"_I could say the same about your friends at the Gandor family_." Casimir retorted, "_I hear they picked a fight with the Runorata family_."

"They won't lose." Claire said with a refreshing smile.

"_Cause you'll kill all the Runoratas_?" said Casmir as he put the tea cup to his lips.

Claire laughed, "That's part of it."

He looked at the package next to Casimir. It was a long, brown leather rucksack with multiple cuts and stains over its exterior.

"You still using your weapon of choice?"

"_No_," Casimir replied, "_HE is still using HIS weapon of choice_."

He finished off the rest of his tea in one gulp.

* * *

**Soooooo... this is a long chapter which should have been split in two but really what's the fun in that? Nothing. So here it is in its 1637 word glory, (please refrain from sleeping while reading DX). Rest assured this (hopefully) is the last introduction chapter so the story should start cruising when it reaches NY by next chapter. Being still young and inexperienced in the world, I am not good with accents so if you find anywhere I can do better with them please send me a message and I will fix it. **

**Suggestions, comments, concerns are welcome as long as they do not consist of only the two words YOU SUCK. That would make me cry. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. The Visitor

Day 2

New York: Genoard Residence on Millionaire Row

Millionaire Row, true to its name, was where all the rich, successful men and women lived. It's beautiful white Gilded Age manors seemed to clash against the grey and brown that overtook the rest of the city and it's expansive estates and lush gardens made you forget that you were in the middle of Manhattan. The grandest by far of the residences was the Genoard Mansion where, at the time a heated dispute was getting... "resolved".

"DIE!"

"There's no reason to be so angry you should have only been embarrassed for 1 min 24 seconds."

"You're right there isn't, but die anyway."

"Wow he's telling a girl to die!"

"Sexist!"

"Don't tell my sis to die!"

"I tell both genders equally to die so it's ok."

"Hyaha!"

"hyaha!"

"Really can't you guys say anything but 'hyaha'?"

"I'm not sure about Junior here, but I choose not to, in order to keep on the same intellectual level as you guys."

"Oh, I see… Wait a minute!"

"Hyaha?"

"Don't try to play dumb now!"

"Ha! It's funny cause she's actually playing dumb."

"Die."

"He said die to a girl again!"

"Scum"

"Lowlife"

"Hyaha!"

"hyaha!"

"Shut up! Death is gender neutral!"

It was in the midst this twisted conversation that Jacuzzi awoke. He wasn't sure how the argument started but most of his fiends had a few screws loose so it was probably better no to know. He also didn't really want to enter the conversation at this stage. For one thing he could barely keep up with the pace they were going.

Maybe he could just keep pretending he was asleep...

"By the way Jacuzzi why are you pretending you're asleep?" asked Melody pointing one of her bells in Jaccuzi's direction.

Jacuzzi twitched.

"Jacuzzi was what!?"

"You mean he was secretly listening to everything we were saying!?"

"For about 5 minutes and 34 seconds" responded Melody in a laid back voice.

"Shame on you!"

"But… It's… not like…" started Jacuzzi raising his hands in a defensively

"Scum"

"Lowlife"

"Hyaha!"

"hyaha!"

"Isn't that a bit harsh!?" asked Jacuzzi on the verge of tears. The tattoo of a sword on his face wavered slightly at every heavy intake of breath.

"No"

"No"

"No"

"Hyaha"

"hyaha"

The door creaked open as a girl walked into the room.

She was the same age as Jacuzzi and was what you could called attractive. However, the eye patch on her right eye and the visible burns that went up her arms hinted that she was far from normal.

Jacuzzi looked at her with tears in his eyes.

"Nice!" he cried at the girl looking for some comfort from her.

The girl named Nice looked slightly troubled, she scratched her cheek, her one eye avoiding Jacuzzi's pleading expression. "Well listening in to other people's conversation isn't very leader like…"

Jacuzzi broke down crying.

Jacuzzi Splott was the leader of a band of delinquents and was also the one responsible for turning them from a group of washed up Chicago street urchins into a force to be reckoned with, all by just being himself. It was not like Jacuzzi had overpowering charisma or a keen intellect or anything like that. He was probably the biggest crybaby ever to be a leader of a gang. However, people seemed to gathered around him, not because he was particularly dependable but because they just couldn't leave him by himself. Perhaps that is one form of charisma.

2~3 years however they were forced to migrate form their home city of Chicago to New York after causing some trouble for a certain Mafia family. Two of the members of the band had gotten work at the Genoard Mansion, as a cook and bartender, and asked if a "few" of their friends could work there as well. The owner of the mansion, Eve Genoard, agreed. So, Jacuzzi's gang began the balancing act of two jobs, one was to work at the mansion as extra hands and the second, what they always did, distill and sell liquor. Now a days they had to pay a cut to a group called the Martillo family, who Jacuzzi had to remember every time he paid up, were not "Mafia" but "Camorra" which were, he was told completely different.

Through all this, even though he swore to cry less in the future on the train to New York (which is it's own story), he bawl, sniffed and blubbered at the smallest sign of danger or guilt.

Like he was now.

"There, there Jacuzzi. I'm sure you had a reason."

"Hic… hic… you are?" took his face out of the pillow he was crying into and look back at his comanions.

"Yeah so stop crying."

"We said too much."

"Hearing Jacuzzi cry for more than 6min and 13 seconds is painful."

"Hyaha!"

"hyaha!"

"Re… really guys?" Jacuzzi sniffed, almost giving a hopeful smile.

"Nah, you're still scum."

Jacuzzi started crying even harder.

"Now, now guys, anymore bullying of Jacuzzi and I'll blow you up." said Nice.

…

The whole room went silent for a few seconds.

"Haha… we were just kidding. Right guys?"

"Yeah, we didn't mean it."

"I did for about 47 seconds."

"Shut up Melody!"

"No, no! Put that bomb back Nice! She didn't mean it!"

"Why are you even smiling like that!?"

"It's because big sis wants to share her beautiful smile with the world!"

"Ah that makes sense… Wait, wait Nice put that lighter down!"

"See she's still smiling!"

Jacuzzi stopped crying and looked up at Nice who was now holding one of her bombs and a Zippo lighter.

"N... Nice?"

"Don't worry Jacuzzi I'm doing it for you…" Nice's cheeks went bright with color

"L… L… Liar, y… y… you just want to blow u…up the explosives." said Jacuzzi still sniffling.

Nice smiled radiantly back at him, "Yep you're right."

"Niiiiiiiiice!" Jacuzzi broke out in tears.

"Umm… excuse me."

The fast pace conversation came to a complete halt as everyone's eyes were turned to the source of the voice.

Eve Genoard was standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing anything." she said smiling apologetically.

"No, no it's fine." said Jacuzzi who seemed to make a full recovery.

"Yeah, you don't need to worry about that, you own this house anyway!"

"You're the boss."

"Nah, sis is a Baroness!"

"We were just slacking Jacuzzi."

"He's so fun to bully."

"Last time he cried for 12 minutes and 39 seconds"

"Hyaha!"

"hyaha!"

"Wait what!?" cried Jacuzzi.

"Anyway," Nice cut in, "You were saying Eve?"

Eve was laughing at the comical banter that it took her a few seconds to regain her composure.

"You have a visitor Jacuzzi."

Jacuzzi looked up at her confused, "Really? Who?"

"Me."

Eve moved to the side as the newcomer entered the room adjusting his slightly singed overcoat and smiling brightly as he scratched his head of white-streaked black hair.

Everyone froze.

"Aidan?!" Jacuzzi cried, his face a shade of white.

"Hey Jacuzzi long time no see, eh?" Aidan said, laughing warmly.

Nobody answered but glared at him, watching his every move.

"You guys are noisy as ever." Aiden continued.

He looked around the room at the glaring youths.

"Umm..." he reached into his coat, "I got something for you."

In that moment everyone in the room drew their weapons.

* * *

**So, as promised we are in New York! I put in some description of Jacuzzi's situation because I don't know how far the anime went with that. Hopefully the banter between the delinquents wasn't too confusing. I liked how it was done in the novel and decided to adopt the style but it gets confusing who's talking when with multiple people. I'm debating whether to continue Aidan's story or if I should jump a few day's to when the other OC's + Graham reach NY but either way I'm hoping to write a fight scene soon :D. **

**Any comments, suggestions, or concerns are as always welcome. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Victor Talbot and his Merry Band

Day 5

New York: The Office of Victor Talbot

"So you're the newbie, right? What's your name?"

Mary Parker looked up from her shaking hands at the man who sat with his legs crossed on the desk in front of her next to the nameplate with the words "VICTOR TALBOLT". He looked at her with his eyes hidden under the sheen of his glasses as he took a sip from the white cup on his desk… which he promptly spat out.

"What the hell?!" he sputtered, "Bill, I ordered tea not coffee! How can you call yourself a defender of these United States if you can't even get an order right, huh?!"

A man peered through the entrance, "Sir you ordered coffee today."

"I what?"

"You told Bill, "We got a new recruit today so I need all the energy I can get. Get me a coffee instead of a cup of tea, same amount of milk and sugar."" the man paused for a second, "After that you started complaining about the new recruit saying "God damn it, I really hate it when they send me a greenhorn-""

"Right, right I remember!" said Victor hastily, "You can get back to work now Edward!"

"Yes sir." The man known as Edward winked at Mary as he walked away.

Victor Talbot, which Mary assumed was the man's name, looked back into his cup wrinkled his nose and put it back down on the table.

"So newbie, your name?"

He uncrossed his legs and leaned closer to her; the sheen of the light on his glasses disappeared, revealing his eyes, which peered at her as though trying to make sense of who and what, exactly, she was.

"Um… Mary… Mary Parker." she managed to mutter.

Victor scratched his chin "Mary Mary Parker? That's a weird one."

"No, no! Just Mary Parker."

"I see." He said and paused to adjust his glasses. "And Ms. Parker, were you given a briefing of what we do here?"

"Yes sir." she replied quickly, "We investigate in affairs having to do with immortals and deathless."

"Correct."

Without warning Victor leapt onto the desk, making Mary take a step back in surprise.

"And Ms. Parker who are our enemies?" he said with a grin.

"Our… our enemies?" Mary stuttered.

Victors grin widened, "Enemies of our organization."

"Anyone who threatens the security of the United States of America or its laws." Mary said with a straight face and a confident voice completely different from the stuttering voice she had used before.

Victor clicked his tongue in annoyance, "Correct."

"Umm… did I say something wrong, sir?"

Victor raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You clicked your tongue, sir."

"He wanted you to say something like "Rouge Immortals" so he could say "Absolutely wrong you imbecile" and show off." said Edward who peered into the office again.

"Didn't I tell you to get back to work?!" Victor yelled, his face bright red.

"You did sir, but my work includes informing you of the recent developments in "That Specific Area" and one has popped up, sir."

Victor's rage immediately subsided and replaced with glee, "You mean the Martillo family's turf?" he asked, eyes wide in anticipation.

"No sir the other "Specific Area.""

"So the Gandor's turf." Victor's shoulders sagged slightly. "Why the hell, do you even call the two places "That Specific Area" huh? It's confusing."

"That's because you told us to call any area having to do with immortals "That Specific Area" to avoid information leaks, sir."

"Oh, right." Victor said.

"And sir, I think you should stop jumping on the desk. It's not good for the furniture."

Victor looked down and seemed to realize for the first time that he was still standing on the desk. He sheepishly stepped off.

He pointed at Mary.

"Newbie, follow me. We're going to check this "development" out."

"Y- Yes sir!" Mary cried.

As he was about to walk out of the office, he turned around 180 degrees and looked at Edward with a stern expression.

"What's the development anyway?"

Edward let out a long sigh.

"Well," he started, "It began yesterday."

Day 4

New York: Under the Jazz Hall Coraggioso

"So you were talking about business Ms…" a rough voice began.

"Mr. Gandor," a female voice cut in, "it is awfully rude to talk during a serious poker game."

"It's ruder to interrupt a business partner, isn't it?" laughed another voice, softer than the first.

"Ah, your right, Mr. Gandor." said the female voice.

"I'd prefer if you just called us by our first names." said the softer voice.

"I thought the Mafia was supposed to be formal." laughed the female voice.

"Well it's confusing when all 3 of us are Mr. Gandor." replied the softer voice.

"I see, well then Luck, Berga and Keith I have a business proposition for you… but first."

The sound of cards hitting the table filled the pause left by the female voice.

"Five Queens."

"What?!"

"How?"

"..."

"Your fault for not cheating, boys. But I appreciate the chivalry."

Liz Demera looked smugly at the cards on the table.

"Now, onto business."

* * *

**So after not planning how any of this would play out I decided yto sit down and finally figure out how I wanted the story to progress! Yay me! So here is a chapter mostly about Victor Talbolt (who, for those who haven't read the light novel (Which I am really annoyed there aren't many translations) is a Immortal on the Advenna Avis and also part of the FBI. Next chapter will be more on my OC Liz and the Gandor brothers so look forward to it (or don't either way i'll write it... eventually). Probably have more on the assassin character after that. **

**If you have any comments, questions, and concerns, (Besides "Where's the violence!" as my friend whined when he read it.) please messege me or put it in the comments. Thanks for reading, as always! **


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